Excitement Bores Me
by Nenalata
Summary: Life is still repetitive, family is still okay, and Runners are still milling about. Chase Black comes from a perfectly acceptable...y boring family. Ready for a neutral, unexciting story? Chase is, but when Runners are involved, a story is anything but.


**A/N: Mirror's Edge belongs to EA Games, not me. I wish the lame summary didn't belong to me, but alas, it does. My apologies.**

"But just think of how _strong_ they must be," John called after Chase, wiggling his fingers with a grin. "And they must have such…_nimble_ fingers!"

"And you just sound creepy," Chase scoffed, stopping in his fast walk through the hallway (escape) to turn around and roll his eyes at his friend. "Runner girls, no matter how good in bed they might be, are not to be messed with."

"I wasn't thinking of messing with them; I'd rather hope that they mess with _me_." Chase's expression clearly stated he did not agree, and he continued walking home, not caring if John could keep up. Footsteps and heavy breathing sounded behind him as he heard the kid try to keep up. "But doesn't the whole 'forbidden' idea appeal to you, Chase?"

"No. Why would it?"

John slung his arm around Chase in a long-suffering way, and the victim of the assault tried not to cringe. "Chase, Chase, Chase," John sighed, adding another "Chase" for good measure. "Clearly you are not like any other reasonable teenage boy."

"Well, that's a tragedy."

"Rebel girls, in this day and age," John continued as if he hadn't heard, "are extremely hot, and you would know this if you bothered to pay attention to current events!"

Chase delicately pried John's arm from his shoulder and pressed the button to the elevator. The sixteen year olds clambered inside as soon as it arrived, Chase pressing the buttons for the sixth and seventh floors.

"I do pay attention to current events."

"What?"

Chase turned to glare at his friend. "You heard me."

"We still were talking about that?" John grinned. "Damn, Chase, if I got you to start up a conversation on Runner girls—"

"Current events," Chase interrupted, staring at the ceiling, "state that Runners are dangerous both to the government and society. I think you should start watching City Eye instead of reading magazines."

"But with magazines I can save the pictures of Faith Connors!" The elevator dinged, and Chase shoved John out, pressing the elevator's button before his friend could say something else.

Chase Black was a generic, boring boy who lived in a generic, boring apartment with his generic, boring parents. He liked generic, boring music and generic, boring TV shows. Every day he rode his generic, boring bike to the City's generic, boring school and attended all of his generic, boring classes with his generic, boring peers. He got straight Bs, was an average athlete, and wasn't particularly talented in any notable category. He was, like the other generic, boring boys his age, going to grow up into a generic, boring adult, marry a generic, boring woman and get a generic, boring job until a generic, boring retirement. Chase Black knew all this. And frankly, he was pretty okay with it. It was a generic, boring opinion to match the rest of his generic, boring life.

"I'm home," the generic, boring wonder called to the rest of the household as he unlocked the apartment door. No one answered, though he wasn't surprised. His mother was probably still at the volunteer center, and his father was no doubt working in the home office. Chase put his keys in the neat little dish placed by the coat racks for said purpose and carried his backpack to his room.

He closed the door, zipped open his backpack, set his math homework and vocabulary sheets on his desk. It was dark in the room, but he didn't really care. Summer was approaching, giving him more daylight, and he wasn't particularly concerned about the time. It was three fifteen, and his homework was done by five o'clock. No one in the household had made any sounds of life, so he closed his notebooks, put them back in his bag, and left his room neatly as it had been the day it was decorated.

_Looks like I'm eating alone tonight_, Chase thought to himself upon entering the kitchen. He wasn't particularly dismayed or anything by the thought—hell, he was nearly an adult. He had no reason to whine about his parents not being home. He felt a bit uneasy, though, unwrapping some frozen pizza and placing it in the microwave. His father hadn't moved from the office at all, and Chase always felt perturbed knowing there was someone in the house without knowing what they were doing. It wasn't like he wanted to know what his parents were working on or talking about or thinking about; the simple idea of the _unknown_ bothered him.

He'd brought this subject up to John once, but he should've known better than to expect anything but "dude, that's what freaking libraries are for." He and John were friends really only by convenience—neither felt any true warmth for each other, but everyone needs a best friend.

The microwave made its little sound, and it echoed around the ultra-modern apartment. Chase ate standing upright, aware that he could now hear voices coming from his father's study. _How exciting_. He thought about texting John but had a bad feeling his friend would only want to talk about the latest article about "that sexy bitch, Faith".

Everyone knew about Faith Connors, so there really wasn't any reason why Chase should think about her story. She was practically old news by now. Yet John was enraptured by her, tacked all her pictures and articles and stories to the wall above his desk and practically worshipped her. Chase thought it was the creepiest thing he'd ever seen. He wondered how John would react if he actually met the woman.

Chase would call the cops; he knew that without even stopping to think. Runners disturbed the peace and just wouldn't accept the new laws the City had in place. Personally, he didn't see why they wouldn't just let go. It was easier, and besides, the City wasn't really too bad. You got all your news from the City Eye, the newspapers gave the straight facts, and you never even got any annoying spam emails asking you to enlarge various bits of your anatomy. On one hand, Chase could see why they felt the need to fight for their 'right of speech' and all that. But on the other, he'd never been very good at standing up to bullies or making big decisions and was amazed that other people could just blatantly state their opinions and the like. As far as he was concerned, he was perfectly happy to stay on the good side of the law and avoid unneeded trouble.

The voices from his father's study were louder now, and Chase was surprised that he hadn't turned off the speaker phone for whatever business call the man was on. He couldn't hear the words, but whatever it was sounded very agitated, and the woman answering him didn't sound too pleased, either. Finished with his pizza and more than a little curious—his father was a mild man who got along with everyone at work, after all—Chase inched over to the office and put his ear near the door crack, feeling a little silly. Immediately, the subject became obvious.

Chase's father was talking to a Runner.

There wasn't any going around it: he could clearly hear the words "take this message", "you're going to be caught", "tell him I don't give a damn whether or not he'll have to pay you more, and that I thought helping the City was important to him!" As if that wasn't enough freaking proof, there was the sentence "I just don't understand you Runners."

Yup, pretty incriminating.

Chase's heart was pounding in his head, his fists clenched so tightly he felt his nails break the skin and draw blood. His family didn't consort with Runners, and yet one was right inside that room, making polite talk or something with Chase's own father. He didn't care what the topic was, he didn't care about consequences…all he cared about was the _betrayal_.

In a rage, he raced into the master bedroom, yanked out a safe from his mother's nightstand and punched in the electric numbers to activate the lock. The steel door swung open soundlessly, and the Beretta 92S gleamed darkly inside. The gun had once been the favored style in the army, but when technology improved they fell into the citizens' hands. It was difficult to acquire one nonetheless, and Chase had never questioned how his father had attained one, or for what purpose. Looking back on it, he realized that his dad had probably gotten it through one of his Runner 'contacts' and was saving it for the day he got caught by the police.

_Dad doesn't know that John taught me how to fire an automatic last summer at camp_, Chase thought grimly. _Sucks to be him_. He checked the magazine before slipping off the safety catch. He was right outside the office door again, listening to the quieted-down voices, before he stopped to try and calm himself.

What was he going to do, just charge in there and start firing? Hell, his father was in there. _It's only as an image,_ Chase tried to reassure himself. _I'll tell them I'm calling the police and that if they tried anything I'd shoot. They teach us these things in school, it's not that difficult_. He could feel his resolve fading fast, and that frightened him. He didn't want to back down from this like he had with bullies, cheaters, John, etc. It was either now or never…and never meant living knowing his father was _involved_, as well as a Runner on the loose again. Gathering up his measly stock of courage, he steadied his shaking gun hand and opened the door.

His father was standing with his back to him, leaning against the desk. The Runner girl was barely older than Chase himself, yet she was reclining against the open window with the air of a businessman who's seen it all. Her eyes widened and he heard her curse as he aimed the Beretta at her.

"I'm calling the cops on you two," Chase quivered, feeling ridiculous as he heard his voice mew. He saw the Runner girl look around for something else she could pull on him, but of course there wasn't anything. Chase's father spun around, shock and guilt plastered on his aging features. Chase could almost hear what he was going to say next: _Chase, put the gun down. Don't do anything stupid, just calm down so I can explain_, and Chase knew he would listen.

Thankfully—or maybe unfortunately—his dad never had the chance. The Runner, seeing no other option, jumped out of the window and onto the balcony below with gymnastic grace, and Chase, caught up with his mix of adrenaline, fear and need for self-worth, impulsively (stupidly) jumped after her, the loaded gun still in his hand.

**First chapters are always the hardest. Stay tuned.**


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